


Ugly Side

by aspermoth



Category: Total Nonstop Action Wrestling
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Minor Violence, envy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspermoth/pseuds/aspermoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Alex Shelly won the X Division Championship at Genesis, the Guns hit the bar to celebrate. Only Chris Sabin isn't really in the mood to party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugly Side

He who envies others does not obtain peace of mind – Siddhartha Gautama

~*~

Alex Shelley was on Cloud Nine. Chris could see it even from half-way across the bar, in the glow in his eyes, that subtle curve of his lip, the way he was actually wearing the title belt underneath his t-shirt to keep it with him, like he couldn't believe that it was his. Chris knew that feeling well. Very well. When he'd first one the X Division Championship belt, he'd barely taken it off for a month except to shower and sleep. Hell, he'd come _that close_ to sleeping with it under his pillow until he'd decided that was just a bit too pathetically geeky even for him. He thought of Alex doing the same and smiled, just briefly.

Then that hollow ache came back, the one that lurked somewhere around the region of his solar plexus, and his dark mood swung back down like a sledgehammer to the face, bringing with it an emotional concussion and a metaphorical headache the size of Connecticut. He sighed, took another swig from his beer, and wondered half-heartedly why he couldn't just be happy for Alex. It was Alex's big night, after all, and Chris should be happy for him, right? Join in the partying, slap him on the back, buy him a beer, all that celebratory bullshit. But nope, he was moping away the bar nursing a beer in the spiritual equivalent of hiding in the kitchen at a party. It was _pathetic_ , and it pissed him off.

And yet he just couldn't find the motivation to get up and join in – he just didn't damned well care, because he was tired, and he ached like hell, and... and... fuck it. Just fuck it. He lifted his beer glass back to his mouth but there was nothing left in it but foam. Oh great. Just perfect. He slammed it back down onto the bar, a lot harder than he would have normally, and the bargirl – a skinny little thing with big dark eyes and a low-cut top – almost jumped out of her skin. Great. Now he felt like a jerk for scaring her.

She didn't seem to hold it against him, though. Instead she smiled one of those customer service smiles, the kind that look just a little bit plastic, and said, "Same again, sir?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He passed her the glass to refill and let his gaze wander back over to his tag-team partner. Alex was sitting at a table across the bar, surrounded by a gaggle of excited, alcohol-fuelled fans, all of them fawning over him to a sickening degree, buying him drinks, sucking up. Alex himself was leaning back in his chair, one hand resting in a faux-casual way on his stomach, but Chris knew better. Even from here, he could see the way Alex's thumb was moving gently over the ridges of the title belt, feeling it, exploring its surface through the fabric of his shirt.

Chris could remember that belt so well. He'd looked over it so many times, examined every ridge and valley and surface so often, that he could still remember every inch of it, of _his_ belt, _his_ prize.

All of a sudden, he felt like smashing something. Or someone. He turned away to find the bargirl waiting patiently with his drink and that same slightly plastic smile on her face. Chris pulled out his wallet, found a bill and handed it over, muttered something about keeping the change, grabbed his glass and stood up. There was people all around him. People, people, people. Loud people, drunk people, stupid annoying pain-in-the-ass people, and he needed to get _out_ of there before he strangled somebody.

There was a door over to his left through which people seemed to be coming and going every now and then throughout the evening. Presumably is was where they were going to smoke or fuck or shoot up or whatever. Either way, it was the closest exit and he needed to get out as soon as possible. He pushed his way through the crowds and slipped out.

An alleyway. Nothing but a dumpster, a few used condoms and a collection of damp cigarette butts. And now him, of course. He shut the door behind him and the babble inside died down from a dull roar to a whisper.

It was quiet. Very quiet. Calm. And for a moment, he felt almost peaceful, his mood almost lifted.

But it didn't last long. His bad mood came crashing back down like a falling tree, and that hollowness in his chest returned with a vengeance as an ache so strong that it almost took his breath away, and a mix of frustration and anger and bitterness swept through him like a tidal wave.

His patience snapped.

He threw his beer glass against the far wall as hard as he could. It shattered into a thousand sparkling shards, beer trickled down the bricks onto the concrete below, and for a few seconds, he felt almost content, pacified by the act of destruction. But it was a hollow satisfaction that soon drained away, taking all the strength in his body with it. He sat down, leant back against the wall and put his head in his hands, the empty place in his chest slowly filling up with guilt. Why the _hell_ did he do that? What the fuck was wrong with him today? What else could go wrong?

And that was when the door opened and he heard Alex's voice.

"Hey Chris, you out here?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

He was here and he wished Alex wasn't. Just the sound of his voice was grating on his last nerve.

"You alright?"

Chris felt his frustration begin to rise again. He tried to bite it back down, but his voice still came out as more of a snarl.

"I'm _fine_."

He could imagine Alex recoiling as though slapped and almost winced. Nice going, Chris. Way to be a jerk. Alex's voice sounded uncertain, unconvinced, when he spoke.

"Alright. But if you're not back here in five, I'm gonna have to drag you back in myself."

The door closed behind him with a thud and Chris breathed a sigh of relief. Alex was gone, and he had five minutes to calm down, pull himself together and grow a pair. It was either that or he was going to punch Alex's teeth down his throat in front of everybody and damn well _enjoy_ it. Because he was pissed. He was pissed at Alex for using their friendship against him, pissed that it had worked, and pissed that he hadn't thought of it first.

Chris sighed and rubbed his eyes. He didn't want Alex to see him like this. To see this side of him. This jealous, bitter, angry, despicable side. He only wanted Alex to see his favourite part of himself. Not... _this_.

Not his ugly side.


End file.
